I wasn’t snooping. At least, that’s what I tell myself. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, screen lighting up in the dark. He was in the shower, humming like he always did, steam curling from the bathroom. Normally, I’d ignore it. But the notification preview flashed words that froze me: Can’t wait to see you again. My chest tightened, my stomach twisting with dread. Against every instinct screaming not to, I picked up his phone and unlocked it. What I found inside didn’t just confirm my worst fears. It destroyed me. The messages weren’t from a stranger. They were from my stepmom.
At first, I couldn’t breathe. My eyes darted across the screen, reading words that burned into me like fire. Last night was perfect. I miss your hands on me. We have to be careful—she can’t find out.
My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. “She.” That was me. They were talking about me. About keeping me in the dark while they tangled themselves in betrayal.
The bathroom door creaked open, and he stepped out in a towel, humming, water dripping from his hair. He froze when he saw me holding his phone.
“What are you doing?” His voice was sharp, panicked.
I looked up, tears blurring my vision. “Reading your lies. Reading hers.”
His face drained of color. He reached for the phone, but I pulled back, my hands trembling. “How long?” I whispered. “How long has this been going on with her?”
He stammered, searching for words, but none came fast enough. His silence was louder than any confession.
I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow, broken. “My stepmom. Out of all people, her? You couldn’t betray me with someone distant, someone I’d never have to see. No, you chose the woman who raised me, the one I called family. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, his chest heaving. “It’s complicated—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped, my voice shaking with fury. “Don’t you dare call this complicated. It’s disgusting. It’s betrayal dressed up in excuses.”
That night, I confronted her. I drove to my father’s house, the phone still heavy in my hand, the words still seared into my memory. She opened the door, surprised, her face pale when she saw me.
“I know,” I said simply, my voice flat, dead.
Her lips parted, eyes wide, but she didn’t deny it. She didn’t even try. Instead, she whispered, “You weren’t supposed to find out.”
My chest caved. “You weren’t supposed to find out? That’s your excuse? You’ve been lying to my face, hugging me at dinners, smiling while you’ve been sleeping with him. How could you?”
Tears filled her eyes, but I felt nothing but rage. “I loved you,” I spat. “You were supposed to protect me, not destroy me.”
She reached for me, but I stepped back, disgust twisting my stomach. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t ever come near me again.”
I left before I crumbled, before the weight of what I’d uncovered swallowed me whole.
That night, I packed his things into a trash bag and set them by the door. When he came home, begging, I didn’t look at him. I didn’t speak. I just pointed to the door.
Because there are betrayals you can never forgive. And this was one of them.
Final Thought
Some secrets rip families apart more brutally than any argument ever could. I thought I’d found love in him, and I thought I’d found family in her. Instead, I found their messages, proof that both had betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. My stepmom stole more than my trust. She stole the very meaning of family. And I will never let either of them back into my life.
